


An Anchors Burden

by hinotoriii



Series: After Adamant [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, but NOT Dorian or Oscar, mention of a possible in-game character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotoriii/pseuds/hinotoriii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oscar has returned back to Skyhold after aiding the Wardens, yet he now carries a heavy weight within him. The reality of what his position means has hit him head on, coming at a price in doing so, and suddenly Oscar finds himself beginning to rethink the cost of what saving the world might mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anchors Burden

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation to 'Past Memories, Future Hopes', which is a previous story with Oscar that I have shared. As with the first, this may include big spoilers for _Here Lies The Abyss_ , depending on the story mode and options played out. There is vague mention of character death (as the tags suggest) but it is _not_ for either Oscar or Dorian. 
> 
> The idea wouldn't leave me alone, and as with nearly every time an opportunity for angst hits ... I decided to fic.

As he stares down at the glowing mark embedded within his hand Oscar's stomach twists in a tight knot, making him feel ill.

Ever since returning from Adamant, his advisors and the people of Skyhold have been busy occupying his time. At first it had been tiring, considering Oscar hasn’t really rested properly since his time at the fortress with the Wardens, yet now that he’s been left alone he finds himself almost craving the excuse _not_ to think. Because allowing his mind to open up to his thoughts is proving to be a bad thing, and only manages to cause Oscar torment and pain.

The sun begins to set over the horizon before him, painting the sky a light orange; yet Oscar does not even look up from his spot upon the balcony to watch the magnificent sight before him. His eyes remain fixed on the anchor, watching the way the magic it holds ripples calmly within his skin. Once upon a time Oscar would have looked at it and seen what everyone else around him wanted so desperately to believe it could mean, that he was the Herald sent to protect and save them all, chosen by some greater being no one could understand to help fix what was broken in the world. Now when he looks at it he sees the mark very differently. Now he sees failure and death, the blood of those that have given themselves up only to ensure that he survive.

Oscar looks at the anchor now and sees it for what it really is: a heavy weighted burden, one which he is unlucky enough to bear. 

“I thought I might find you here.” 

The familiar voice causes Oscar’s shoulders to tense. He turns his head, just enough that he can spot the owner from out of the corner of his eye. Dorian leans against the archway, arms crossed over his chest and a curious eyebrow raised in Oscar's direction. When nothing but silence passes between them both he moves, pushing himself away from the arch and walking to stand beside Oscar.

“Josephine mentioned that you’d decided to retire to your quarters for the evening. Personally, I wasn't surprised. After seeing you run around all over the place ever since we’ve returned? You must be exhausted,” Dorian pauses, turning to Oscar who continues to stare down at his hand silently. A frown creases upon Dorian’s brow. “Yet what you really appear to be right now is troubled. Whatever is on your mind?”

Oscar clenches his fist, finally looking up and ahead of him. He swallows, his adam's apple quivering as he attempts to push down most of the emotion which threatens to explode from within him, breathing in deeply with his nose. 

“I just keep thinking. It should have been me, shouldn't it?”

A beat passes between the two of them. Dorian continues to watch him, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion.

“What should have?” He asks, although judging by his tone Oscar is certain Dorian already has an idea what he it is he's talking about. 

“Adamant. When we were in the fade with the nightmare demon –“ Another pause, knowing that mentioning what had happened in the fade was a tender subject for them both. Oscar finally turns his attention fully to Dorian, expression forced into determination as if it were like steel. “It should have been me that stayed behind in the end."

“No. We’ve talked about this,” Dorian replies, an edge to his words which is coated in fear at the memory of what they had both narrowly escaped from. He points a finger at Oscar sharply. “You came back, just like you were supposed to do.” 

 _“But I should have stayed behind,”_ Oscar repeats. “I made _promises_ , Dorian. I promised Varric his best friend would return from our journey. _The Hero of Ferelden trusted me_ to bring her husband back safe and sound. And what happened? I had to make a choice to leave one of them behind. I had no choice but to break one of those promises.”

“Are we really having this discussion right now?" Dorian asks rhetorically, annoyed. "It’s not your fault that one of those promises weren’t able to be kept, and no one blames you for it.What they _would_ have blamed you for was if you had decided to sacrifice yourself instead. _That_ would have been ridiculous.”

“So Alistair was fine to leave behind then?” Oscar says, his voice rising. “He helped to end the blight in Ferelden, and yet his life somehow meant less than mine. Despite _everything_ else he’s ever done over the years since?” 

“Compared to your life, yes. His was less important right now. And he _understood_ that and the reasons why that was.” Dorian stands a little straighter, moving his hands in the air in front of him as he continues to speak. “How many times do you need to be reminded? _You’re_ the Inquisitor, the most important person alive right now. We loose you, and we’ve already lost to Corypheus and whatever his plans are for the world if it were to fall to him. That mark of yours is a reminder of that.” 

“The mark. Do you think I wanted this?” Oscar hisses, raising his hand and showing Dorian the bright, glowing anchor in his hand. “That I _asked_ for it? If I could I would get rid of the anchor in a second, but I _can’t_. Corypheus tried to do just that and failed. I don’t want this burden! I've _never_ wanted it – especially not if it means I have to break promises I’ve made to others; if I have to be the reason why people sacrifice themselves and die on my behalf.”

“And do you honestly think that I don’t know that? Oscar –“ Dorian takes a step forward, tentatively reaching a hand out but resisting from setting it upon Oscar’s shoulder for the time being. Oscar is too angry, too upset yet for the touch to be as comforting as Dorian would wish for it to be. “None of us think that this is something you wished onto yourself. I certainly don’t. Why ever would you? For whatever the reason may be however, you _do_ carry the anchor. And as much as you or even I may wish you didn’t, sometimes … sometimes we just have to accept the responsibilities which have been rudely pushed in our direction. Especially the big, rather important ones.”

Oscar’s eyes narrow, and he glares at the glowing mark once more with distaste. He flexes his hand, watching how the anchor reacts and moves along with his skin. Letting his shoulders fall Oscar releases a deep sigh, his anger dissipating as exhaustion spreads across his face.

“I wish the anchor had never fallen to me right now.”

Finally, Dorian let’s himself pull Oscar towards him, wrapping him tightly in his arms. Oscar more or less falls into the embrace, burying his face into the familiar scent and warmth that Dorian always provides for him. He feels as if he breaks then; that all the emotions he had been trying his hardest to keep buried beneath the surface finally break their way free, causing him to clench his eyes tightly shut at the intensity in which they crash over him like ferocious waves.

“I know.” Dorian says, moving his hand up to rest against the back of Oscar's head and thread through the short hairs there. “However; you may carry the mark, but you do not carry the burden of stopping Corypheus and foiling all his plans alone. That is why all of us are by your side. Just - please _never_ feel that just because you are marked it means you need to automatically become the martyr of us all. I believe I made it quite clear earlier that I’ve grown somewhat attached to having you around, and I’m not quite prepared to let go of you just yet.”

Oscar lets out another heavy breath; a second wave of guilt settling into his stomach as he recalls how upset Dorian had been when they spoke in the library earlier. The fear and sadness Dorian wore as he explained how he thought he had lost Oscar for good returns to the forefront of it all, and Oscar in turn wraps his own arms around Dorian’s waist, making sure he continues to remain as close to him as possible.

“It’s just so … difficult,” He mumbles. “Sealing rifts and stopping Venatori is one thing, but having people sacrifice themselves for you? I thought I'd seen the last of it in that future you and I both got ourselves trapped in, but now? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get used to that. I don’t _want_ to get used to it. I counted Alistair as a friend, someone who could be trusted and had sense in and understood what we're standing for here, and now that he's gone …”

“I understand,” Dorian says quietly. He rests his cheek against Oscar’s hair. “He was a good man. I think that always makes these sorts of things harder to accept.”

“We lose too many of those.”

“Well, let’s just make sure that we don’t lose anymore then, shall we?”

Dorian’s arms tighten around Oscar as he asks the question, and in response Oscar gives a simple nod. His overall exhaustion of everything which has happened wins out in the end, causing him to fall into silence once more.  

They remain holding one another on the balcony until the sun disappears completely, replaced instead by the shining light of the moon. Once the sky is dark and night has fallen Dorian carefully pulls away from the embrace they share, reaching for Oscar’s hand so he can guide him away from the chill of the mountain air and  back into the warmth of the room inside. He leaves Oscar alone to get ready for bed, busying himself while he waits with lighting the fire. After a while of poking around in the fireplace the flames eventually begin to rise and the embers flicker. Content with his work Dorian rises back onto his feet, turning around and stopping in his tracks as he spots Oscar sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s removed the brown – and rather ugly, Dorian thinks -- clothes which he often wears whilst around Skyhold and remains shirtless in only his small clothes, his eyes focused on where Dorian remains standing. Dorian watches as Oscar goes to say something before quickly stopping himself, the words left on the edge of his lips for a brief moment until he sighs, trying once more to speak.

“Will you … stay? Please.”

Dorian’s first reaction is to freeze on the spot, and even with however slight the action is Oscar still manages to pick up on it. This is somewhat new territory for them, something which Dorian had not expected. They share Oscar’s bed intimately together quite often, yet Dorian has never stayed before. Not even after, despite Oscar’s silent requests and his own deeply hidden desires to wake next to the man.

Yet Oscar’s expression is so open to him now, so vulnerable. It’s a rarity, considering how usually Oscar is smiling and trying to lift the spirits of those who surround him each day with his optimism and humour, and Dorian isn’t sure he can recall a time before this night where he’s been exposed to such a lost and saddened sight. His heart aches at the picture it paints, and before he is even conscious of it Dorian is making his way over to Oscar, who reaches out for him once he’s in distance. 

“Just for tonight,” He says, leaning down so he can press his forehead against Oscar’s. Oscar lets out a relieved breath of air from the response, a small ghost of a smile lifting at the corners of his lips – the most he can manage right now. 

“If that’s what you wish. I just … I need you by my side tonight, my love.”

Dorian’s heart twists at the endearment, shifting his position slightly so he can press his lips against Oscars in a kiss. There is no urgency within it, but there is an intensity. It is slow and soft, careful in a way, and meant only to convey what words fail to do for them both.

That night, they need each other – just to hold close in their arms, nothing more. It’s a reassurance, a thankfulness that they’re both safe and very much alive. Yet it is also a sadness, a grief for what has been lost, what _could_ have been lost if something else had gone wrong, and what uncertainties rest before them in the troubled future ahead. Yet tomorrow will bring with it a new dawn, and when they step out into the world once more as Inquisitor and Altus, both Oscar and Dorian will keep moving ahead. 

They have to, because the world needs the Inquisition - needs _them_ \- to keep pushing forward.


End file.
